


The Second Golden Age

by 60sec400



Series: Through the Years [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1550s, Elizabeth I, Elizabethan, Gen, Immortal!Merlin, Let's be honest, Series, merlin adventures, merlin gives advice, merlin is an advisor, merlin meets queen elizabeth I, merlin tries his best, uh oh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60sec400/pseuds/60sec400
Summary: "What are you doing in the Gardens?"And he replies in Old English, "I'm sorry, what?"Merlin didn't quite mean to meet Elizabeth I, but he supposes he might as well just run with it. He never expected to become one of her most trusted advisers, or one of her greatest friends.Part of the "Through the Years" Series.





	

1554  
  
“What are you doing in the Gardens?”

And he replies in Old English, “I’m sorry, what?” 

The woman, or more a girl really, compared to Merlin’s actual age, stared at him down her pointed nose, black eyes squinted suspiciously. She was wearing a red gown that, arguably, clashed with her red hair, and wore a pearl necklace around her neck. She stood poised and tall and she loomed over Merlin like the royalty she was. He wanted to sigh— what was it with him constantly being undermined by royal prats? 

“You spoke in the Old language. I repeat my question, what are you doing in the Gardens? Can you understand me?” she looked more confused now than anything else. He wanted to bolt out of there and over the walls, but she stood right in front of him. Her black eyes reminded him eerily of Guinevere. 

“It’s Brittonic,” he replied instinctively, and then cursed his need to correct her. 

She pursed her lips. “So you can speak English.”

“Oh, um yes.” He’d had trouble adapting to the changes, even though he spoke the modern English very well. 

“Feel free to answer my question, then, but I’ll admit we haven’t got all day.”

“I lost something,” Merlin replied. 

“And thus you determined trespassing was the only resolve.” 

“Er, yes. May I ask where I am?” 

“You do not know?” 

He shook his head. 

“Woodstock Manor,” she replied dryly, as if the name were poison. She looked him up and down. Nothing more than a villager, by the look of it. He was young, but she can see only a little older herself. How he managed to get over the walls and avoid the guards was beyond her, but he didn’t seem like too much of a threat. Still. “Are you here to kill me? Did Queen Mary finally send someone?” She looks him up and down. “You hardly seems intimidating.” 

He wanted to be offended, but she looked so relaxed about it that he almost wanted to laugh. He doesn’t quite understand what it is about him that’s so non-threatening. Maybe it’s the ears… but then again, the goofy grin and the stupid smile he often gave people certainly deterred their ability to see him as a threat. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting the Queen, no, so I can’t say I’m here to kill you.” 

She relaxed a little, still. “You haven’t answered my question, however. And the morrow comes to an end.” 

“Yes,” he said, “my trespassing. There is a perfectly reasonable answer.” 

She quirks a brow but says nothing. 

“Er. I lost something,” he said, and it’s truthful. Except not quite. He was tracking some mythical creature but it disappeared over the walls here. He can’t exactly say that. So he stuttered a little and she figured he can’t say or he was lying. 

“I’m a princess, I could order you to tell me,” she said, but he can tell she has no intention of it. Still though, he grits his teeth and fights the urge to roll his eyes, only because this is to eerily like Arthur and his conversations. Merlin hated lying, but after 968 or some years of living at the age of 23, it gets a little useful. He’d lied plenty— mostly to inn-keepers and people who thought he was a threat, such as this instance.

“You could.” 

She scrunched her nose. “You speak very odd. Tell me, from where do you hail?” 

He pauses, his mind flinging to Ealdor in Essetir. Technically, if his mental map was anything accurate to the last physical map he saw, Woodstock Manor was in Oxfordshire, which was previously a part of where Camelot’s lands where. But he was not from Camelot. He wanted to lie and say Ireland, but they hadn’t exactly on good terms with the English. And then he thought back to where he’d been last, in Saxony. “Erm, Lincoln. Small village to the north.” He hoped she hadn’t caught the hesitation. 

She nodded, “Yes. But your accent. Hail you from Ireland?” 

He paused. “No.” 

“Family from Ireland?” 

He winced. He’d spent time there. Just not recently. “No. Not that I know of.” 

“Are you not a native English speaker?” 

“Er…” 

He’d never been affronted with such questions, ever, in his 968 year life. This women, whomever she was, was incredibly curious. He could tell, simply from her dress, she was nobility or royalty and was probably more learned than Merlin ever had been when he’d been her age. 

“I may call the guards on you.”

“You won’t.” 

“No,” she admitted, “I won’t.” 

“Why not?” 

She narrowed her black eyes again. Behind her the manor loomed over the them and he examines it before he turned to look back at her. “There’s something about you. I can trust you, aye?” 

“Aye,” he replieed, simply for a lack of a better response. Her eyes twinkle. “Though, not sure if a Princess such as yourself should go about trusting strange men who climb into her gardens.” 

She waved her hand away, dismissing his point, and laughed. She turned to walk down the stone path. She instructed him to follow and, not knowing why, he followed. Perhaps it’s the Old Religion compelling him to do so, but he’s curious about this woman, and so he follows. Maybe he’s supposed to protect her while he waits for Arthur. 

“Your name?” he asked, if only for a formality.

She smiled. “Elizabeth Tudor, a pleasure.” 

He smiled back. Oh yes, this was certainly destiny.

][][][

He would meet her in the Garden, often in the afternoon when she walked herself around. He’d simply be there, standing by the fountain they’d met by. She’d often bring him books, and they’d talk. He’d told her name was Richard, and it wasn’t until the fall came that she finally discovered the truth. He hadn’t told many people— a few here in there, the most memorable being, before Elizabeth, of course, a Anglo-Norman man named Alric in Ireland. He’d spent some time there. 

He shook his head, anyway, not important. He’d meet her in the gardens by the fountain and they’d talk— particularly of the political air of Albion, or rather England. He was her one outside source. Of course, the young Princess had spies but he technically existed outside of time— at least, he was nobody. She insisted that he find some name to attach himself to, some family who had money but wasn’t nobility. 

He became, then, Richard Langley of Lincoln. He’d already had a house in the country, some place where he could disappear when any number of his acquaintances would become suspicious of him. She insisted he draft a Coat of Arms and thus one afternoon, with a storm looming over them, in the early summer of 1556 that he presented to her the Pendragon Crest. It was then that she began to become suspicious of Richard from over-the-garden-wall. The crest, not nearly as well decorated as, say, her own, was simple and if anything medieval in its design. 

She took the crest with hardly a word, directing their conversation back to their previous topic— Mary’s possible and probable marriage to Philip of Spain. Merlin was convinced it would happen, but Elizabeth remained skeptical and cautious. Marrying Philip would make Mary the queen-consort of the Hapsburg empire, something that would give both her, and Philip, too much power. 

“How old is she? Merlin asked curiously, one day in June. 

“Mary?” Elizabeth replied, “Mmm, thirty-eight? Why?” 

Merlin thought back to his trip to the Crystals of Neahtid the previous night. “Interesting. No reason.” 

They consorted over the summer and it was Mary’s marriage to Philip of Spain that he found Elizabeth in the garden, her face red with fury, crushing red roses. When she saw him she began to sob, and he held her in the garden next to fallen red roses. They did not move until the sound of a page walking down stone was heard. Merlin disappeared.  
It was fall when Elizabeth approached him one evening as he sketched some herbs that had managed to grow in between the gardener taking care of the gardens. Mostly everything was dead or dying but Elizabeth stood there in a pearl studded blue evening gown, her fingers adorned with the usual rings and gems, a beautiful moon among a dark grey sky. He looked up. 

“I didn’t even hear you approach,” he said, moving to stand up. She helped him up. 

“Who are you?” 

He lowered his pen and frowned. “I told you, my name is—.” 

“Not Richard, for sure.”

He blinked, clearly uncomfortable. He wished he could use his magic and disappear; he wished to turn into a bird and fly far away. It was late fall and around them a breeze blew that chilled him to his bones but he wished it would blow him away from the scene forever. 

“Who are you?” she repeated. “Your coat of arms matches one in my books in the library.” 

“Which one?” he asked, dreading the answer he knew was correct because he’d written the book to preserve the darn crest. 

“The Pendragon one, coincidentally. Care to explain?” 

“What’s there to explain? I simply needed something and am not nearly skilled in designing my own. I thought that I could pull an old one that no one uses anymore.” 

“I’m supposedly descended from them,” Elizabeth says offhandedly. 

“Arthur never had children,” he blurted out, and then winced. She narrowed her eyes.

“You are not Richard Langley, that’s a lie, and I know your name is not Richard.” 

“No,” he admitted. “My name is not Richard Langley.” 

She only quirked an eyebrow. 

“It’s Merlin.” 

She blinked. And then laughed. 

“Merlin? Arthur’s magic advisor?” 

He couldn’t help but feel irritated. “Er, well not really he actually really never knew—.” 

“You’re serious?” 

He looked over and found she stared at him intensely with her dark eyes. Her red hair was becoming loose in the wind. Around them another storm is brewing— it is England— and he knew that would have to depart soon. He straightened up and adjusted his tunic. He’s wearing an orange outfit today, reflecting the trees, and finds himself suddenly in a very awkward position. 

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I’m serious, I can show you. I never meant to lie, your Majesty.” He hoped that he looked as sincere as he felt but she doesn’t stop him or say anything. He knows her now and is very surprised she hasn’t demanded his head or that he leave immediately. Slowly he walked over to a dead rose, his sketches long forgotten. He can feel her dark eyes on him and knows she’s waiting. It’s best not to keep a princess waiting. Merlin had never much respect for royalty— but he respected the person, and he certainly didn’t want to lose Elizabeth’s friendship. 

He held out his hand and with a flash of golden eyes the rose comes to life. It’s leaves unfurl from a brown grey color to a flushed rose. The stem lifted up in reverse and green seems to bloom from its depths. Slowly he snapped it off and walked toward the princess. She grabbed it with wide, but thankfully not terrified, eyes. She touched the red rose and looked at it with slight awe. 

“Magic? I’ve never seen it before, only heard of it,” she said in disbelief, but he knew she did not expect an answer to her question.  
He smiled. “Magic exists still. People all over this kingdom use it.” 

“Why are you here?” she looked at him intently now and he turned away toward the bush he’d chosen to demonstrate his powers. 

“I’m waiting. For Arthur. He died and I’m supposed to wait for him until he returns for Albion’s greatest need,” he replied. “I truly did not mean to run into you. But I’ve been waiting a long time. Almost 1,000 years. Destiny has different ideas,” Merlin said truthfully. She had handed him back the rose and he rotated it tentatively in the air. He knew she could see his eyes, a blazing sun in their sockets, and that she was listening to his tale. “I am… doomed to walk the earth and wait for him to return. I’ve been many places and seen many things. Ireland and the Highlands. France, Saxony, Prussia, Venice, Cairo, Athens. I’ve learned so much but I always return home. Destiny isn’t finished with me here.”  
Her dark eyes are on the rose, watching it turn in an endless loop, and she opened her mouth to speak. “I want you to become my advisor,” she said. “We’ll lie about where you’re from. You say you’ve got a home in the north?” 

He hesitated. “Your Majesty, Elizabeth, I don’t know if that’s good. You found my lie easily, perhaps someone could come and—.” 

She waved her hand dismissively. “No worries. We’ll manage to trick them. I’ll destroy the book, it’s one of a kind.” 

“I know,” Merlin said, miserably. He’d written it. 

She continued. “You will go and fake anything you need to appear of Noble blood. Continue using the Pendragon crest, Sir Merlin, I’ll see to it it’s respected.” 

“I’m not a sir,” Merlin cut in. 

“Not yet,” said Elizabeth. 

][][][

Winter passed. Merlin had returned to his home in the North. It was a large old manor from some old Noble in Essitir. The structure had once been wood but had turned to stone walls as the wood began to fade. The inside was decorated with what Merlin had collected in his travels. A Persian rug he’d traded for in the Roman Peninsula almost 800 years ago. Several paintings and sketches from Da Vinci, with whom Merlin had accidently ran into several times. They’d become lifelong friends. A sketch of Merlin almost exactly 40 years ago, where Merlin had disguised himself as an old man. Da Vinci had sketched him, insisting that Merlin have his face captured by the masters charcoal. He’d died before the piece was finished, which was so like Leonardo that Merlin almost always laughed when he thought of it. There were furnishings from France and a necklace made from gold and lapis lazuli from Mesopotamia. Most of the items held little value, now at least, but the people he’d met when he’d gotten them had made the items, in Merlin’s mind, priceless.  
Most of furniture had been looted or covered by the time Merlin had moved in some 900 years ago. It was a wonder the place still survived. He performed magical theory and practice in the old library, where many magical books he’d collected were. He had a feeling that the manor was simply being held together by magic. He left often but it was home and it had always been there.

He returned to Woodstock in the spring. Elizabeth was in the garden, in a soft green gown with pink roses and pearls adorned all over it. Gold embroidery made her sleeves shimmer as she moved. She was reading underneath an oak tree when he arrived. 

When he jumped the wall and approached, she softly laid her book down and leapt up to hug him. 

“I’ve missed you very much,” she laughed. “Tell me everything you’ve done while I’ve been here suffering in this miserable castle.”  
“I got you this necklace,” he said, “from France.” It was a small gold necklace with two green jewels. She gently lifted it from his hands and touched it softly. It shimmered in the sunlight. Merlin knew Elizabeth had plenty of jewelry to make her happy, she was a princess, but this was a gift; not for political reasons, or religious, but simply for Elizabeth. She smiled and looked at him, her eyes crinkling. 

“It is beautiful,” she said, “thank you very much Merlin.” 

He beamed. Then they sat down and he told her of his tale in France. 

Slowly, he began to intercept himself into her daily activities. He met, outside of Woodstock, one Sir William Cecil, with whom they had a delightful discussion about politics and trade with France. Merlin was determined to get on Cecil’s good side, knowing that he would be important in Elizabeth’s reign. So Merlin bragged of his family’s name and that he was the last to carry on the Langley name by, of course, a legitimate birth. He inserted magic everywhere he could, throwing the Langley name into the history books for his false identity was the best way to deter Cecil if he became suspicious.

Merlin was interested in politics, and Cecil carefully introduced Merlin to Elizabeth one evening. It was Merlin’s first time in Woodstock and as elegant as the manor was, it was still Elizabeth’s prison. 

Merlin acted surprised to meet Elizabeth, bowing respectfully and having a proper introduction that they never formally got. He wanted to laugh at the two of them but he kept his face neutral as her could when Cecil had asked if Merlin had ever met anyone in the royal family. 

“No, sir, I’ve not had the fortune,” Merlin said. “Though my family had some dealings with royalty some several hundred years back I suppose. And in wars.” 

“Yes, yes,” Cecil said, “where did you say your family hailed from?” 

“Lincoln. Here,” Merlin replied and reached into his pocket to produce his family crest. Cecil took it, his eyes narrowing as he looked it over. 

“And older design. Not many use dragons in their crests.” 

“No, it certainly makes ours unique.” 

Elizabeth, who was watching them both turned to Cecil. “Any news of the Queen?” 

“Not much,” he glanced at a guard. “I’ve heard she may be pregnant.”

A fork clattered against porcelain. “Excuse me,” Elizabeth whispered. “Isn’t that wonderful news, wouldn’t you say Mr. Langley?” 

Merlin merely nodded, watching the princess’s hands shake as she gently laid her fork down. Her eyes were focused on one spot of the table and her face was pale. He wanted to reach forward and grasp her hand but she lifted her head and smiled. “Shall we move to the drawing room?” 

1555-1557

Elizabeth was moved to Hatfield. Mary did not find her sister to be as nearly a threat as she previously was and Elizabeth, although limited, had her freedom. She immediately invited Merlin for discussions and talks about anything they could imagine. Astronomy, Arithmancy, Herbology, Mathematics, and any books they’d read recently. Merlin happily complied the discussions and often found himself debating with Elizabeth about the subjects they both studied. He made sure Elizabeth was protected and together they prepared for anything. Although she might not become Queen, Elizabeth was still royal. 

One evening, while out hawking, she turned to him. Her arm was outstretched, waiting for her bird, and Merlin sat lazily to the side in the shade.  
“You’ve never told me of Camelot.” 

Merlin frowned. “You’ve never asked.” 

“I suppose not,” she said, “but you’ve never been forthcoming. I only know your name is Merlin and that you can perform magic. And then yet I’ve got only the legends and I know you’re not an old man.” 

He sighed wearily and laid flat on his back. “I’m almost 1,000 years old. I’m definitely an old man.”

“An arse, that’s what you are.” 

He made a face. “If your highness insists.” 

“Certainly. Now tell me, Merlin.” 

He paused. He’d never told anyone. Sure, some knew his identity, but never who he was. They knew the Merlin that had lived hundreds of years. He paused and closed his eyes.  
“Hold my hand,” he told her. He doesn’t know if she did because suddenly he’s back in Gaius’s chambers, stopping time to keep the old man from death. He hears a gasp from Elizabeth, so she must’ve grabbed him. 

“You look so young!” she whispered. 

“I was eighteen when my mother sent me to Camelot.” 

A swirl of color and then the Dragon and then Merlin meets Arthur. The faces are all blurred, of course he’s forgotten what they looked like. He knew Arthur had blonde hair, but what type of blonde? And his eyes, were they green or blue? Merlin wanted to think green, but he doesn’t know. Morgana, as beautiful as ever, appears, but even she looks distorted. Dark hair, brown or black? Eyes, brown or grey? He can’t remember. Elizabeth says nothing, but he can feel her modern presence behind him. It’s comforting but he doesn’t dwell on the thought that the new feels more at home than the old. 

Guinevere appears next to him and she shifts from serving girl to regal queen before their eyes. Around them time shifts, but the story continues. The poison Merlin consumed for Arthur, Nimue, bandits and every other magical threat that was going to kill Arthur. He hears voices, speaking. Merlin is complaining, then defending, then laughing. Elizabeth is gone, suddenly, but Merlin think he’s just lost in his own memories. Balinor, Morgana, Mordred. Arthur is lugging a cup at Merlin and Merlin rolls his eyes and snaps back and makes a fuss about everything. There’s Cornelius Sigan, Cenred, Agravaine. 

Freya. 

They’re back in 1557. Spring. Elizabeth stands beside him. She’s holding his hand with one of hers and another is holding his shoulder. She says something but the words do not pierce his ears. His hearing snaps back. 

“Freya,” Elizabeth said, “you loved her?” 

“You saw that?” he asked. He was dazed, his vision swam. “Felt that?”

“I perceived more than what was shown, if that’s what you’re asking.” She lowered him slowly to the ground. “That was magic.” 

“Not strong. I’m just… it’s been a while since I’ve seen them. Gwen, Gaius, Morgana, Arthur.” He paused. “I miss them dearly. I don’t think they ever knew that I would outlive them. Certainly not Arthur, he was convinced I was an idiot.” 

“You?” 

Merlin laughed. “Yes, me. But I don’t have to keep up the pretense of idiotic manservant. He knew I was quite clever when I wanted to be, or rather, when I let him see.” He frowned. “I often feel like Arthur felt as if he didn’t know me. I certainly couldn’t tell him of my magic, but I know that that’s not all who I am, even if destiny or fate say otherwise. I want to think so, at least.” 

“Perhaps he knew you as you. You may not have been an idiot, but you were still Merlin. You still talked back, it appears, you still reacted to things as Merlin would have, not as magic, but as you,” Elizabeth said. She’s sitting on the ground with him. He wanted to warn her not to ruin her gown. But this dress is for hawking and the grass wouldn’t leave a mark on the soft browns and leathers of her dress. For once the sun was out on England, and it’s beginning to set beyond the trees. 

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “Still, I cannot ask for anything different.” 

“No,” she agreed. 

He grinned. “Now, let’s talk about Dudley.”

She groaned. 

1559

Merlin stood next to Elizabeth when she is crowned Queen of England. She looked regal and beautiful and her eyes were poised and ready to rule. He knew she had been waiting for this moment for years, especially since Mary had taken the throne. Lady Jane Grey nothing but a forgotten footnote, Elizabeth looked every bit the part of Queen. He was reminded of Guinevere and her coronation and knew that, from what Elizabeth had seen in his memories, her dress was a nod to him. It took a long time but he did not complain and at the end when she goes out to greet her new subjects, he is whisked back with the voices of cheering and for a moment he’s grinning and clapping with the rest of them for Arthur and Guinevere.

The next few months pass by slowly as he and Elizabeth and her advisors slowly push out new laws to make England hers. Tension, already, was high with Spain and Elizabeth doesn’t want to strain their relations. It’s not until they are sitting in one of the many drawing rooms in the palace that, once Cecil leaves, she sunk down into her chair in a very un-Queen like position and looked at Merlin with tired eyes.  
“I need a break,” she admitted. 

He sat down across from her and frowned. “You’re Queen, Elizabeth, it will always be like this.” 

She nodded absentmindedly and agreed with a soft yes. She stared out the window at the grey clouds that are about to break open and pour on London. She shifted uncomfortable. 

“When are you leaving again?” 

“In the morning.” 

“What are you doing?” 

He paused. “I told you, didn’t I? A book I’ve been looking for with some magical properties has bounced up again by the border. I need to get it before it falls into the wrong hands. Magic is still free, and I don’t need anyone cropping up thinking they need to take what’s not theirs. We had enough of that of Morgana.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the thought of the woman, but he let it go when he noticed the curious look Elizabeth gave him. 

“What?” 

“What if I went with you?” 

He blinked. “What? Are you out of your own mind?” 

She laughed, “No but I know I can help! I’m good with a sword and you can always use the extra help. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to travel with a Queen.” 

He crossed his arms. “I’ve travelled with you before.” 

“That’s not the point.” 

“You’re not coming.” 

“I could order you.” 

He smiled. “But you won’t.” 

She returned the smile. “No, I won’t.” 

“Elizabeth, magic is dangerous. I’ve shown you the beauty of it, but the truth is that it can- and will- be manipulated by terrible people. They won’t care if you’re the Queen, they never cared Arthur was king, and I know they’ll use you to get me to comply. They might not know I’m Merlin, but they will know I’m powerful,” Merlin explained, his voice strained as he begged Elizabeth to listen to him in his mind. 

She cursed. “Merlin, I know I’ll help. Going out will be good for me. I’m coming.” 

His hands, which were splayed out in front of him as if holding a large orb, fell to his knees. His shoulders dropped. “You’re capable, that I know. But to magic? I’ve seen armies fall with three words, Lizzie.” 

She looked up at him then, sharply, at his nickname for her. Then she sighed. “I’m coming. You know I dread the name Lizzie.” 

“I was hoping it had changed in the last month.” 

“Alas, you were wrong.” 

“So I was,” Merlin whispered.

They ended up getting the book, and a couple of nasty cuts. Whenever he went out, though, she was there to help. 

1560

Merlin rushed through the palace to the place he knew Elizabeth enjoyed being during her meetings. The Spanish ambassador was in London— nothing to worry about, although his troubled statement had sent Merlin off in shambles to go find Elizabeth. He ran through the labyrinth of a castle and interrupted probably many important meetings. He thrust open the locked door after dismissing the guards (or rather, dispelling them into quiet sleep), and found the Queen sobbing as she held onto her chair. Her makeup was running but Merlin moved forward and grasped her before she fell on the ground. 

“Your majesty!” 

“She’s dead, she’s dead!” the Queen sobbed. 

“Elizabeth!” 

She hiccupped and opened her dark eyes to look into Merlin’s blue. “What happened?” 

“She’s dead! Robsart is dead!” 

“Elizabeth!” He shook her then and held her shoulders so that they were facing each other. Merlin towered over her normally, but he leaned down so that their eyes meet. “Did you order the death of Amy Robsart?” 

She sobbed and wailed. 

“Elizabeth!” he yelled, something he rarely ever did. Her eyes snapped to him. “Did you or did you not order the death of Amy Robsart?” 

“No,” she whispered.

He let out a breath of relief and immediately drew her into a hug. “Then you are alright, you are safe.” 

“But Robert—.” 

“Robert Dudley will have to deal with his wife’s deaths accordingly, but for now you must pull yourself together. You are Queen. You may deal with this on your own time, but right now the Spanish Ambassador believes you may have killed her. You need to deal with this, right now. You cannot have murder on your hands, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice steady. Elizabeth should have never shown her interest in Robert Dudley so flamboyantly and they were certainly going to deal with the consequences now. They’d become quite cozy, especially since Elizabeth had become Queen a year ago. 

Merlin had enjoyed his talks with Dudley, but the Earl of Leicester had too many hopes that he’d one day become King. Merlin had never found him much of a threat, but still the man’s interests in the Queen remained romantic and political at best. And he constantly left his wife at home. 

But they would get through this. 

1585

Merlin and Elizabeth rarely fought. 

It’s not until many years after their first meeting that they truly disagreed. 

“I just want to know if we win,” she said, her voice firm. 

He scowled. “You don’t have to use that tone with me, I’m not Cecil. And I know, you’ve told me a hundred times. But you must understand, I cannot tell you the outcome of the war!” 

“England has but a small fleet and army! I cannot send my men knowing they are going to die, and I cannot simply stand and let my country be overrun with Spaniards!” she yelled, and jumped up. Her rings clattered against the wood of her chair as she gripped it but Merlin, who stood across from her with arms crossed, did not move. Her pale white face, covered to hide scars from a sickness years ago, is raging with anger. 

“This is not what the Crystals are for, Elizabeth! I’ve told you of their danger!” 

“The sake of this country is at stake!” 

“This country is about to play a role in history! I cannot influence it no matter what! If I tell you that you are to lose, then will you not send you men? And if I tell you that you are to win, will you not send as many? I cannot give you the power of the future, Elizabeth, that is for those with magic and magic alone!”  
“We are entering war with Spain, and you will not even tell me if we will win!” 

“I cannot!” he raged. Immediately all the windows shattered and a crack of thunder boomed outside. They both flinched, and the gold in Merlin’s eyes faded. He rarely displayed such power when he performed magic for her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Elizabeth, the future, when you look into the crystals, will happen. It did with Morgana. It did with Arthur. It did with Mary’s death.” He paused. “Both of them.” She looked up at him. “I will not tell you because nothing you can do will change it all.” 

She looked at him half terrified and half defiant. He could tell she was angry, raging, and knew her temper often got the best of her. “I believe in free will.” 

And she swept out of the room. 

“I wish I did too,” he whispered. 

1587

“Think about this, Elizabeth, do you really want to order her execution,” Merlin asked. He had begged her to reconsider her options ever since the question of Elizabeth’s cousin, Mary the Queen of Scots, had risen. “We went through all that trouble almost thirty years ago to discuss peace with the Scottish, and now you want to kill their Queen?”  
Elizabeth frowned. He knew she wouldn’t be offended by his words. In fact, she welcomed them, but she looked out over London. It was sunny out and the city was bustling. “I don’t know. I’ll be weak if I don’t, but I’ll be cruel if I will.” 

“It’s true. But politically—.” 

“—it’s the right move to make, of course, therefore I should have her executed for the safety of England,” she finished. 

“Yes,” he agreed, “but—.” 

“—but,” Elizabeth went on, “I am not seen as the legitimate holder of the English crown. I’m neither Catholic nor born from a legitimate marriage in the eyes of the Catholics. Mary is a victim of her position just as much as I am mine. I do not want to kill her, Merlin.” 

“I know,” he said, softly. “You know she refers to herself as the Queen of England, though.” 

She looked over at him sharply. The jewels in her hair swung and clinked together. The sun almost made her red hair golden. “How do you know that?” 

His eyes twinkled with gold. “Magic.” 

“Merlin.” 

“Elizabeth.” 

She sighed. “I don’t like her, but I was hoping she’d at least work with me. My father declared me legitimate on his death. As did Edward, both rightful kings of England.”  
“Ah,” said Merlin, “but your father was not truly married to your mother Anne Boleyn, thus you do not have true claim to the throne.” 

“And she is what? A granddaughter of a Tudor, of Margaret Tudor, I have more claim then she.” 

“Not to the Catholics.” 

“Damn them,” she cursed. “I’ve tried to please them.” 

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I know!” 

“She’s conspired against me,” Elizabeth reasoned. “Lady Lennox, Darnley.” 

“She doesn’t have a good reputation, though, not even with her own people.” 

“I’ve heard the rumors,” Elizabeth confirmed. She moved forward to look out of London. The sun was beginning to set. “But it’s been twenty years, I’ve but moved her around for her own protection. And mine. I know she wants my throne.” 

“Destiny has been against her,” Merlin supplied. 

“That it has. I’ve been urged to kill her. Numerous plots and I’ve let her live. She’s my cousin, I cannot simply let her die by my hand. But Babington was the last straw. Everything else has been but speculation of a supposed endorsement. But we’ve acquired the facts— she has ordered my execution. And I’ve tried to keep her from harm and she holds only resentment. ” 

Merlin desperately wished he could tell Elizabeth that circumstances for the abdicated Scottish Queen could have been better, that she could have granted Mary more freedom, but the former-Queen had conspired against Elizabeth. He had stopped more plots to free the damn woman than he had trying to convince Elizabeth to kill her. He knew she tried to care for Mary— they were cousins— but everything was about gaining power. Politically, murder attempts to acquire thrones was normal. He couldn’t take either side, but he knew that Elizabeth would have to choose for her own. 

“She was found committing treason, Merlin,” she whispered.

He nodded. It was true. Elizabeth had the warrant in front of her. 

He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Do what you think is right Elizabeth.” 

1588

Their relationship was strained since that fight about the Crystals and the Spanish war in 1585, even though all the advice. Often times it had been well, but more often than not there was much hardship. All through the war she would make snide comments about the crystals and insisted he knew the outcome of the war. But he didn’t care seek out the future and instead threw himself into helping the present. She was his most trusted advisor, that would never change. It was not until the threat of the Spanish Armada that she brought up the Crystals in finality again. 

And again they argued. Merlin, in the three years since their last argument, had not changed position. He would not look at the outcome of the threat of the Armada. She could not force him. She never had— not once had she demanded that he do at she said because she was Queen. He had a feeling that she knew he would not listen anyway, but she’d never commanded him in such a way. He was the only one, that he knew, where she did not demand such ridiculous things. 

The day before she is about the meet the Armada at the coast, he is with her in her tent. She sat quietly by herself. “Where is the page to put on my armor?” she asked. 

“I sent him away.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ll do it,” Merlin said. “I did Arthur’s well enough, I can do yours.” 

She does not protest when he grabs the breast plate. Before he can latch the piece, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward to look at him in the eyes. “We may not survive. Merlin, Emrys, I want you to become my successor. I’ve written it down. I can think of no one else.” 

He looked at her. She’s so much older than when they first met but she is always the regal Queen. She loved her country and only sought the best for it. “An immortal king. What would the pope think?” 

She laughed out loud and he continued to latch on her armor. She’d done this most times herself when they went on magical adventures, but there came a time when she was much too old to go off on magical excursions with the Great Merlin. 

“You’ve done this country a great stead, Elizabeth,” he said. “For its people. Even it’s magic-users. Albion is great with you.” 

She smiled then. “It is good to hear that. Thank you, my friend. You’ve been too good to me.” 

He’d changed his appearance and he appeared much older now. At least, he looked it. She touched his face. They both looked so different from all those years ago, but he still found she looked so beautiful. She always would. “Thank you.” 

He grabbed her wrist and was reminded of what could never be. “Always.” 

And then she left for war. Merlin squared his shoulders. It was time. 

He appeared at the Crystal Caves in a matter of minutes. The new magic had a wonderful way of transportation and Merlin was hoping that he could, at least, adjust it to be less painful. He appeared twenty-three again and he straightened his back He began in the direction of the Crystal Cave. The magic was calling him and soon he appeared in front of the looming cliff face.

The trees were all still there, the same as always. He wondered if this land would ever be disturbed or if the magic would protect it.  
It was just as he remembered it. He walked in eyes closed and allowed the magic to guide him. He kneeled down and opened his eyes. Past, Present, and Future all played before him. He collapsed almost immediately on his side as the future swung around to meet him. His clothes, that of an important British noble, or the Queen’s advisor, looked distinctly out of place in the ragged cave. It was raining outside and he could hear the patter of the rain on the leaves. But it all faded. 

A school in Scotland. Yes, he’d been there. And then he was thrust forward to the future. Germany (what was Germany?) and another war (the word tanks came to mine, but he didn’t recognize it). Then Elizabeth. Yes, finally. He saw the storm. He saw the ships. 

And then he was back in the cave. He stood up, head rearing from visions of the future. He needed to get back to the battle. In a moment, he was gone. The cave was quiet then. The rain had stopped and the trees dripped the water down to the ground. All would be well. 

He arrived on the cliff. Elizabeth was ahead of him. She was on her horse and her red hair was loose, flowing out behind her. He was in awe for a moment, and then she began to speak. Behind her was a clear sky and he could see the Spanish ships. He raised his hands, not caring who saw if it was for Albion, and then he heard her words. 

“My loving people,” she began. “We have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear. I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honor and my blood, even in the dust.” Everyone around him shifted. He could see her words had an impact on them. The men were listening. Spears shifted and clanked but the silence reigned on as Elizabeth spoke. 

“I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonor shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field.

“I know already, for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and crowns; and We do assure you on a word of a prince, they shall be duly paid. In the meantime, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting but by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over these enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.” 

And then they all shouted. Merlin was caught in-between everyone but he kneeled down and escaped out of the army and ascended towards Elizabeth. She looked at him, her face calm but he could see she was worried. Her army would have never know, because they cheered for their Queen and for their country and they were about to win the war against the Spaniards. 

“I am here,” he said. 

But she did not reply, and she turned around to face the Armada. “For England!” she shouted. 

“For England!” the army warned.

Merlin echoed her shout. It was the moment of truth. Slowly he lifted his arms and closed his eyes. He heard her voice but he ignored it, for the moment, and let his magic flow. The sky darkened and rain began to pour from the clouds he had called into existence. The sea began to rage but the little English ships remained unharmed. He opened his eyes. She looked out over the sea and they watched the ships on both sides meet. 

The Spanish never stood a chance. 

“Thank you.” 

He smiled. “For Queen and Country.” 

1603

Almost ten years later. She had dismissed everyone when she lay in her bed. He held her hand. She had asked him to look young again.

“I’m dying,” she said. 

“Yes,” he replied. “But it is a good death. It is not full of pain. And you’re coherent.” 

She laughed softly. She was lying in her quarters in the palace. The windows were drawn to another rainy day. It was gray and cast soft grey light over the room. Everything looked washed out and Merlin, young again, felt the somber mood of the rain. She looked her age, he thought suddenly, and the red spots from whatever disease was killing her made her look so foreign. She had removed the white makeup she always wore and he could see the scars from her sickness when they had been at the Hampton Court Palace. Whatever she had now paled that sickness considerably. Merlin desperately wished he could travel forward in time to stop this; he wished he could discover what sickness this was so that she could remain alive. 

She grabbed his other hand. “Merlin.” 

He looked at her dark eyes. “Yes?” 

“You’ve be a wonderful friend.” 

“I was meant to guide you—.” 

“Not as a guide, you’ve been a friend.” She sighed, then, and he knows she wants to say something about them. Not as friends, but as almost lovers. He knew he loved her. But she loved her country and he loved helping her. He was Albion. He would always help Albion, and right now and all these years, Elizabeth was Albion. She continued. “You always helped me. And I do enjoyed all those adventures we’ve been on. I hope the magical community, for your sake, lives on. I hope they will not become our enemies.” She coughed. “I know you will live on after me, that you will remain as young as always and that you will go on and travel and wait for Arthur.” 

He wanted to cry. “Yes,” he muttered. “But I will never forget you, Elizabeth. You’re my queen.” 

She laughed. “Thank you, Merlin, for the magic.” And she kissed him lightly on the cheek and falls back down to her pillow. He guides her head and closes her eyes and stood up. The rain has fallen harder outside and he can hear the clatter on the windows. 

“Long live the Queen,” he whispered. “Say hello to Arthur for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> [1554-1555] Elizabeth is imprisoned in the Tower of London and later Woodstock Manor by her sister Queen Mary  
> [1557] Elizabeth I is “freed” and moved to Hatfield, no longer a threat to the crown because of Mary’s Supposed pregnancy.  
> [1558] Mary’s death. She dies childless.  
> [1559] Elizabeth I ascends onto the throne.  
> [1560] Amy Robsart’s, Robert Dudley’s wife, death.  
> [1562] Elizabeth I contracts severe Smallpox, which leaves her with hair loss and a scarred face.  
> [1567] Mary, Queen of Scots, is forced to abdicate the throne and escapes to England where she pleads for Elizabeth’s help.  
> [1570] Elizabeth I is excommunicated from the Catholic church.  
> [1585] Elizabeth I takes the Netherlands under her control and was begins with Spain.  
> [1586-1587] Babington Plot to kill Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots, trial for treason.  
> [1588] Spanish Armada defeated.  
> [1603] Elizabeth I dies of blood poisoning.  
> This was incredibly difficult to write— from writing one of England’s most famous Queen to Merlin interacting with Elizabethan England in alignment with specific events. The love story between them didn’t develop until twenty or so years before Elizabeth dies, around the time of 1580 (in my mind). I tried to only show key events, though specific details were left out. I never meant for there to be a love story, Elizabeth’s heart had remained, for the most part, with Robert Dudley but marrying him would have been political suicide. I wanted Merlin’s and Elizabeth’s relationship to evolve and show extreme trust between them. Plus, Merlin has a knack for get on royal’s good-sides.  
> Some information might not be entirely accurate. I have no clue when Elizabeth I first interacted with William Cecil, but for the sake of the story he already knew her. Merlin never would have gained such easy access to the Court, but magic, and a bit of creative license, helped ignore that. Merlin would have attended various theaters, plays, festivals, and parties with Elizabeth. I didn’t want to focus on that, though, and instead with these huge historical events. I especially didn’t want Elizabeth to be there to shine onto Merlin. She didn’t need him to run the country, but his advice and friendship guided her and she helped guide him, although we don’t see so much of those repercussions until later. I won’t write a ‘specific’ sequel. Although, the series will continue with Merlin having changed due to their friendship, assuming the next installment I write will be after 1600. I wanted both of them to grow equally and I hope I achieved that. Note that this is not a story about Merlin's timelessness and how he reacts, it's a story about a friendship. And snippets at that. The time will come where I write about Merlin and his immortality, but today is not that day. 
> 
> Thanks!


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